Day 4, Chimney
swift
As the chimney goes, so goes the swift,
akin to the hard old ways:
heat by wood
in shafts of shelter,
nests stuck to brick with spit.
Who knew birds could spit
or bathe, eat and mate on the wing?
Alighting on little used feet
to rest or roost overnight,
worshipping the vertical as you do
perpetual airborn motion.
“A common bird in steep decline,”
victim to convenience, thermostats, utility;
drawn to the city as country life fades.
Urban flight indeed.
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